It's Elementary, Sherlock
by HiatusSurvivor
Summary: Sherlock is on Moriarty's trail again, alongside John Watson. This time, he admits he needs help. And he calls upon another Sherlock Holmes. An ex-drug addict who previously occupied 221B Baker Street, he now lives in New York City and consults for the NYPD. And this Sherlock also happens to have a Watson. [Continues from Sherlock s3, Elementary s2, Ep 12. Sorry about formatting.]
1. Chapter 1

_**The Brownstone, New York City**_

"Watson. Watson. Watson. Joan!"  
I rolled over, rubbing my eyes. It was probably just Sherlock. Sherlock! I bolted upright, to find him standing by my bed, holding a postcard. He really had no consideration for other people's privacy, did he? It was perfectly normal for him to be barging into a woman's bedroom.  
"Get dressed and pack your bags, Watson. We're going to London."  
London?  
"Sherlock, it's," I turned to look at the clock on my bedside table,"five thirty. It's Sunday morning. Didn't we visit your old house a few months ago anyway, and Mycroft blew up all your stuff? I didn't think you were so...sentimental."  
"It is not sentimentality that is taking us to Baker Street." He twirled the postcard in his fingers. On one side, it showed the London Eye and the city below; a pretty standard postcard. On the other side...

_Sherlock Holmes, I am aware that this mail will be intercepted and possible destroyed, but I require your help, regarding a common enemy we have. Come to Baker Street when convenient. If inconvenient, come anyway. -SH_

There he went, reading it out in that intellectual voice of his.  
"I'll be downstairs in ten minutes."  
"Five."  
"Eight."  
"Seven."  
"Fine." There was no arguing with Sherlock Holmes.

**_221B Baker Street, London_**

"Mrs Hudson, we're having guests over at ten o'clock. Some tea would be nice!"

"Not your housekeeper!" Came the reply.

Of course, had dear Mrs Hudson known who I'd invited over, she may have voiced a different response. There were several things on my mind at this moment in time; firstly, Mrs Hudson had clearly been talking on the phone late last night, as her voi-

"Sherlock!"

Ah, John. Here he was, as he always was. Mary or not, he was always faithful.

"John, hail a cab to the airport. I'll be down shortly. We're picking up some _friends._"

I could feel the chuckle escape my throat as I threw him off with my word choice. Even Anderson could read John's face. Confused, yes, but also hurt. Ah, he felt as though I betrayed him. I scoffed in my mind. Would I really have other friends? The very idea...

"Sherlock, who are we picking up?"

Persistent, wasn't he? I was scanning the landscape outside the window, watching everything scroll by. I had to admit, this was rather fun. Oh well, time to let him off the hook. At least partially, anyway. It was too much effort to explain the things that went on in my mind.

"Someone who can help."


	2. Chapter 2

**_Boeing 787-8_**

Sherlock was very quiet during the plane trip. I mean, he had never been the

friendly type, but he spent most, if not all of the time staring out the window,

muttering to himself, or criticising the entertainment available on the aeroplane.

At some point during the nearly-eight-hour-long flight, I remember drifting off the

sleep, halfway through some sci-fi movie...

"Watson. Joan. Joan! We've arrived."

I get the feeling he enjoys yelling at me until I wake up.

**_London Heathrow Airport_**

"Sherlock, I just don't see how a couple of NYPD consultants are going to help with-"

"John, just keep quiet while I engage in the mundane responsibility of 'introducing

one another'."

There he was, coat collar turned up, dark blue scarf, making his way to an odd

looking tall man and an average looking Chinese woman.

Well, I say odd and average, but I'm not sure I'm the right person to define what

each of those words mean, considering my own friendship circles.

The man spoke first, "Ah, Sherlock Holmes, consultant for the NYPD. This is my

working partner, Joan Watson."

"Nice to meet you." This was the woman, who sounded very American.

Sherlock Holmes and Joan Watson? What?

"Sherlock, what's going o-"

"Funny, I didn't expect you to be a drug addict."

"Says the sociopath. And, I'll think you'll find I've been sober fo-"

"High-functioning sociopath, if you don't mind, who happens to have your address and

phone number."

"Sorry, I-I don't understa-" This was me, trying to get a word in edgeways.

"Anyone can flick through Scotland Yard records."

"Can we have this discussion later?" Joan made herself heard. What seemed to be two

Sherlocks made their way outside to hail a cab while I went to help Joan with her

was my chance to finally figure out what was going on.

"Uh, Joan. Hello. John Watson," Then came the polite handshake, "Nice to meet you.

Can I help you with any of that?"

"Um, sure." She gestured to 'Sherlock's' suitcase, which he had left behind, rolling

her eyes. It seemed like they shared more than a name.

I took the handle and started wheeling it outside.

"Err, sorry, but you wouldn't happen to know what's going on, would you?"


	3. Chapter 3

221B Baker Street, London

An ex-drug addict working with a woman who used to be his sober companion. Accent and choice of words are clearly English, though I knew that from the fact that he worked at Scotland Yard. The manner of which he lives suggests his father's payed for, hmm, rehabilitation and residence, anything he wants; but the two simply don't get along. He's had rather nasty history with his...brother, who recently slept with...oh..I see.

Now, Joan. Chinese heritage, but grew up in the United States. A steady hand and somewhat stubborn confidence says surgeon, but she doesn't title herself as a Doctor, so, no longer in practice. Perhaps she never liked it; forced to study medicine by her parents, or there was some sort of accident, the latter seems more likely, otherwise she wouldn't be working with the police. Obviously, then became a sober companion and judging by the very mutual air between them, the way she addressed him; she was hired by the man's father, no doubt.

John was right indeed. The police don't consult amateurs.


	4. Chapter 4

**221B Baker Street**

"Now," John snapped, slumping into his armchair, "Why is everyone here?"

"I'm here," I gestured to myself, "because someone crashed into my room early Sunday morning and told me to." I then looked to the two Sherlocks, standing by the fireplace, no doubt observing each other. The Sherlock I knew turned to the two of us.

"This is a matter of global importance, Joan, I thought you would be more considerate."

"Global importance?" The other Sherlock scoffed, "You sound like my brother. By the way, how's yours? Not sleeping with Joan still, is he?"

What? How could he- never mind, but..that was private!

I stood abruptly, feeling the colour rise to my checks. "What have you been telling him? Mycroft and I-"

"Mycroft! For god's sake; I already considered the idea that you were an imposter!" Clearly the other Sherlock also had a brother, and his name was also Mycroft. This was becoming stranger by the second.

"An imposter who can observe? Who isn't stupid?" My Sherlock raised an eyebrow in questioning. "I wouldn't be a very good imposter, though, would I? I look nothing like you, my companion, Joan, certainly is nothing like your John, and my first name is in fact Sherlock, Billy."

Billy? Clearly that meant something to the other Sherlock. He froze, regarding Sherlock and I with very obvious disdain. What had we done? The nickname Billy must have got on his nerves, sure, but there was something else, in his eyes. A certain sadness that seemed to match the Sherlock that I knew.

Sherlock really didn't know when to just shut up, did he? There he was, continuing to drop bombs on this clashing meet. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Strange that you should choose to go by Sherlock, don't you think? If anything, you would be the imposter."

"Stop- please, sorry.." John got up, making his way over to his Sherlock. "Maybe they could head over to Scotland Yard, read through anything on Moriarty, or something?"

The curly haired consulting detective nodded quickly, snapping out of his trance. "Yes, of course. Go and phone Lestrade, tell him we're coming.

"Lestrade!" We reacted immediately, Sherlock and I. We had a lot to say about that spotlight craving traitor.

Funnily enough, the look on John and the other Sherlocks' face said that we had gotten something very wrong.


	5. Chapter 5

**Speedy's cafe and diner**

"Why must we stay here? Why not simply stay in the apartment, where we have privacy, cases, the violin, and everything else of actual importance?"

I sighed in frustration. I just wanted Sherlock to get some fresh air, and seeing as Joan and the other Sherlock had gone to Scotland Yard, they had no obligation to actually be in 221B.

"Because, Sherlock," I explained, speaking to him as though her were a child, "You can't just stay holed up in your flat all the time. It's unhealthy."

"We got out this morning. I took you out to the airport."

"Fantastic." I snapped, a little more venomously than I meant to.

"John, if you could stop the sarcasm dripping from your words, I'd appreciate it. Go and impress Joan, if you're looking for something to do. I'll be upstairs."

"But-" Nope, he was already up, pushing his chair in. There he went, striding over to the front door as though he was going to his coronation. Sherlock Holmes, pretentious arse.

**Scotland Yard- Inspector Lestrade's Office**

_Who were these lot? For God's sake, Greg, why did you bring in Holmes?_

Honestly, sometimes I regretted recruiting that Sherlock Holmes. I'm pretty sure we never did anything actually in our division anymore, thanks to him. Anyway, with the rest of Scotland Yard breathing down my neck about the Moriarty incident, not to mention Donovan and Anderson jumping around the place, I reckoned it was better to just not question anything and give them what they wanted.

So there they were, in one of the empty offices, digging through all the case files. Funny, Sherlock never once wanted to look at them, and now this other Sherlock seemed to be devouring them, muttering constantly to his partner who had introduced herself as Joan.

Well, at least this Sherlock fellow explained everything, rather than jumping up with excitement and a random statement that left us all confounded.

So, from what I could gather, the American Irene/Moriarty was simply a client of the James Moriarty I'd known.


	6. Chapter 6

**Scotland Yard**

This sounded bad. The Irene- or, Moriarty- that we had been going against was only the client of another Moriarty? I looked to Sherlock.

Gee, John and that other Sherlock must have had a tough time. We thought Jamie was difficult.

"So...what's the plan?" I shift my gaze from Sherlock to Inspector Lestrade.

Greg shrugs, rolling his eyes. He looks like he's just about had enough with all these Sherlocks. Believe me, if I were him, I would've gone mad by now too.

"I don't know. This usually isn't my division, but Sherlock- the other fella- tends to drag us into this kind of stuff."

"Aren't you the police? Investigators? This is exactly your division."

_Oh, Sherlock, don't go causing problems_...

"Nah, something of this scale usually gets passed onto MI5. They've got more tech, and records."

"Fantastic; see if you can contact them," Sherlock commanded, "Or at least get as much information from them on the two Moriartys. This is my mobile number, text me anything you get." He handed Greg a slip of paper. "Joan and I will head back to Baker Street, so long as it doesn't cause too many problems. Let's try and keep things as normal as possible, hmm?"

Greg chuckled, shaking his head. "You know, what you've just said sounds perfectly normal coming from another Holmes."

**221B Baker Street, London**

"Ah, you've returned." They'd certainly taken their time. Honestly, while some people may think this other Sherlock is in fact a double, or an imposter, he clearly lacks the detective skills.

John clears his throat and gestures to the couch, "Take a seat." He looks a little on edge. Oh, I see; he was planning on a night out with Mike Stamford. Well, that wasn't -isn't- going to happen. Mike would understand, anyhow. He's the forgiving type. As for John, well...he'd get over it. Honestly, he should realise my now that any social life he attempts to uphold is going to be torn down by our- well, my- line of work.

I realise the other people in the room are looking to me expectantly.

"What?"

The other Holmes stands. He looks like he's about to prepare for some kind of speech. Oh, Christ.

"Scotland Yard was a bit of a...disappointment, to say the least. We found some on Ire- ahem, Jamie. She's a client of James Moriarty. By the looks of things, that's not her real name, either, because we found-"

No, no, no, enough. I needed to interfere.

"Yes, of course that's not her real name. Honestly, the only criminal who can get away with using their real name in their business is Moriarty. Seeing as she's merely a client of him, she's hardly some criminal mastermind."

John looks at me like he's just about ready to kill me. He's clenching his jaw. Ah, I must have done that causing tension thing he talks about. He swallows, and turns to Holmes.

"So, uh, are we going to try and find her real name? Hopefully that'll uncover some records?"

"One step ahead of you." He takes a folder from Joan and starts pulling some stuff out. God, I hate this other Holmes. He relies too much on the police. I doubt that he's solved half the cases I have.

"Her name is Harriet Watson."


	7. Chapter 7

**221B Baker Street**

_No way. There is absolutely no way. John Watson, your sister is not a criminal. Say something!_

"Nope. There's no way. Harry is certainly not a-"

"Well, the data seems to suggest quite the contrary." The other Sherlock cuts me off. Rude bastard. Rude, and lying. "It happens. People drink, and then-"

"How the hell did you- Nope, I-I don't even care right now. It's a different Harry, and I can tell you that straight up!" How on earth are they even considering that my sister is a criminal?!

"John."

"What?!" It's Sherlock. As much as I'm relieved he's making himself heard in this, I'm not sure how much he can really do to help the situation.

"You need to calm down."

"No, I definitely don't. That Sherlock is lying. There's just no way." I look over at 'that Sherlock' and I can see Joan's shut him up. Good. Joan seems to just know what to do; I guess this must happen a lot for them.

"My apologies, Mr Watson." Okay, I take it all back. No one, not even Joan, can shut up that man for very long. "You must realise that this has come as much of a shock for myself, also."

_Oh. That's right. They were in a relationship. God, that sounds so weird. WAIT!_

"Harry's gay!"

Everyone turns to look at me. I swear I can hear Mrs Hudson drop a saucepan or something downstairs. The Sherlock from America clears his throat awkwardly.

"Well..." he begins, "Evidently not."

"_Okay_!" Joan jumps in before he starts going on about it. "I'm sorry, John, but...I think we'll have to call your sister. Find her."

_You don't even know it's the same Harry!_ My head is screaming at me, telling me that what everyone is saying is wrong.

Joan must have read my mind. "We looked at the records. Same parents, John. Same hometown. It all matches. Also, we have some photographs." She holds one up, and all of a sudden I wish that she hadn't. I feel sick.

_Oh God_, I think to myself, _It really is Harry_.

**Speedy's Cafe and Diner **

"Joan...I can't believe they're making me do this." John grumbles.

Really, I feel sorry for him. I mean, dealing with these two Sherlock's is difficult enough as it is, let alone when there's a case. I remember Sherlock's been reminding me to practice deducing.

_Okay, well, evidently he doesn't know his sister very well. He's a doctor, I know that. Runs a blog, which I've seen. Recently returned from Afgh- damnit, Joan, you only know this because you've read it off his blog!_

"Joan!" Sherlock's calling me. I zone in, and realise I've been lagging behind. The three of them are up at the counter, ordering. "What beverage would you like?"

"A latte would be great, thanks."

I turn back to where I had apparently been staring at the table, when a movement in my peripheral vision catches my eye, and I look up. Blonde hair, a coat, scarf and handbag. She enters the cafe and I stand before I realise what I'm doing. It's her.

"H-hello," I stutter, before realising I have no idea by which name to address her. Irene, Jamie, or Harriet?

In my hesitation, she gives me a smile. It's clearly forced.

"John!" What? I now notice John's standing beside me, holding two coffees.

She hasn't noticed Sherlock or..um..Sherlock, but she's recognised me. Of course; I'm the one who put her behind bars. She extends her hand and I shake it. The three of us are keeping up a facade, and we all know it. Out of the corner of my eye I can see the two Sherlocks watching, the same look on their faces.

"Hello, Harriet Watson. Please, just call me Harry. I don't believe we've met."

And then my heart leaps, as I can hear the police sirens.


	8. Chapter 8

**Scotland Yard- Interrogation Room** \- _Sherlock (BBC)_

"Have you, at any time, identified under an alias?"

"Yes."

"And what might they be?"

She hesitates, looking around the room for some sort of help. John is standing next to me, watching strangely intently. Clearly, he's uncomfortable. Not my problem; he'd insisted that he come along.

"Miss Watson, what alias' have you identified under?"

"Irene Adler."

Lestrade looks up at John and I, raising an eyebrow. I can see he's holding himself back from laughing, but he has protocol to uphold. He turns back to her, now serious. "Thank you. Any others?"

"I'm sorry?"

He sighs, writing a quick note, perhaps an abbreviation, before continuing.

"Have you identified under any other aliases?"

"I, uh..."

I notice John stiffens next to me, almost as if he's hoping she'll lie, or that it's all some kind of misunderstanding. A stupid idea, really. Regardless of whether they're related or not, if she is some kind of criminal, she has to do the time.

'Harry' taps the table with her fingernails. "Yes, I have."

"And what, pray tell, might those have been?"

"Uh, Jamie..." I see, she's going for the I just sort of picked a random name, it's nothing serious angle. "Jamie Moriarty." She nods once, before looking at the table. People do that when they're ashamed.

"Alright," Lestrade stands, clearly happy with the information he'd gotten. "I'm done, but I think we'll-"

I'm zoning out. I have more questions for her. Lestrade's missed a lot of questions that would reveal important information. I tap on the glass separating the room from John and I. Lestrade looks up in annoyance, and mouths a What? before rolling his eyes an making his way to the door. I gesture to John to follow me and we walk down to meet him.

John's nervous. Well, I suppose he has decent reason to be.

**221B Baker Street**_ -Joan_

John and the other Sherlock had taken the cab behind us. In the simplest words, we weren't on best terms with each other at this moment in time.

"Watson, I really think-"

"Sherlock," I cut him off, "They're the ones with Scotland Yard, not us."

"Yes, but Joan, you must understand that this-" he shot an accusing finger towards the curly haired Sherlock "-imposter was taking things too far. You were allowed to ask questions, not exploit her via her relationship with the others in this room."

I knew I needed to do my best despite the tension, tangible enough to visibly be choking John. He looked down and sort of shuffled his feet. I could feel it curling around my throat as well.

"The good news is," I began, "that we did manage to get a lot of information. I know we could keep arguing for days whether it was the right thing to do or not, but the main thing is we have this new information and we should use it to our advantage. We have the upper hand at the moment."

John snuck me a thankful look. He cleared his throat and continued on from where I'd stopped. "Uh, yeah, look, I have to agree with Joan. We know how to get ahold of Moriarty now, so we should get a move on with it. I can talk to Lestrade, get Harry to cooperate. Once we get her to contact Moriarty it's just a matter of setting it up."

We all just sort of quietly nodded and looked around the room at each other. Setting up a meeting between two criminal masterminds, and trying to monitor, and then ambush it? We all knew it was logically impossible. We were counting on one main fact, something that John's Sherlock had said.

James Moriarty can never, ever, resist a game.


End file.
